


Devotion

by Rabbit



Category: Prince of Foxes - Samuel Shellabarger
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Master/Servant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabbit/pseuds/Rabbit
Summary: Mario and Andrea temper their pious observance of the sacred sites with a little worldly indulgence, at Mario's insistence. Fits in the corners of book canon, like you do. Since there apparently wasn't any other Prince of Foxes fic on this site.
Relationships: Mario Belli/Andrea Orsini
Kudos: 1





	Devotion

"All of this piety is beginning to blister," Belli growled under his breath, pulling his boots off and propping his jutting chin on his rather large fists. Andrea Orsini laughed at this, tossing off his muddy cloak and draping it over the stand.

"Is it now, friend Mario? And here I had come to believe that you were truly moved by the plight of the Orphans this afternoon… your effect on the babes was moving enough!"

"Perhaps," Mario mused, his lips twisting in something like a smile, as he recalled the way the younger of them had soiled themselves when he had appeared, following close by the train of his friend and master, and the Varani Signories, "Though not so much as my Lord by _madonna_ Camilla, by the looks of it… it is always an experience, methinks, to observe the truly converted as they revel in the divine presence." His evil smirk broadened in a way that would have made any other man shrink or make a sign against the evil eye, but Andrea just laughed once more.

"Ohime, that obvious, was I? I shall have to school myself better in the future." But his tone was gay, and he gazed out of the window of their hotel room with an air on his lips, humming pleasantly, and lost in some kind of absorbing thought. Belli watched him a long moment, pleased by the portrait there presented. One wanted nothing in a patron such as Andrea Orsini. His profile was exquisite, but not marred by self-awareness; his fashion of the utmost quality and style, despite his (as Belli knew), somewhat limited means, and his features haughty, but friendly and open, the sort of features you wished to trust. He possessed, in aces, the virtues that had given Lorenzo the title of the Magnificent; the now-unpopular diversity of the renaissance, but none of the vices of that family either. No, his vices, what of them he had, were largely a matter of perspective-- occasionally, it seemed to Belli, he selected the wrong one. His artistic temperament was a curiosity, but betrayed a sensitivity and an idealism that might one day prove dangerous. Belli looked after his own life with the tenacity of a man who wishes to choose his death, one way or the other, and he wondered if he might not be signing up for a more permanent engagement therewith, by sticking with his curious master. Nonetheless, fraught with risk as it was, it was risk from which he could not now tear himself. His smile shifted again to the pensive.

"Aren't we fortunate, that our piety conceals a more personally profitable purpose, then?" He grinned as he said it, but Andrea's expression darkened, a fact which Belli noted as interesting.

"Perhaps," he said vaguely, loosening his jerkin, "We've much ground to cover in the morning-- we had best sleep."

"Of course," murmured Belli, moving to assist his master with his garments. But his mind was churning, among other things. "Perhaps, M'Lord might feel better if lofty matters were driven from his mind for a bit, eh?"

"Hm?" Andrea raised an eyebrow at his ensign, only to have both of them fly open at both the expression on Belli's face, and the position of his hand, as he paused in the removal of Andrea's hose. " _Diascuolo,_ Mario…"

"Shhh." Mario's hand moved again, his thick fingers caressing flesh through fabric, "Your passion may be of the purest nature, but I know need when I see it. You won't go to the brothels when I do, so…" He squeezed, drawing a half-strangled sound from Andrea, who looked badly as though he needed to sit down. Belli assisted him thus, half-shoving him with rough hands down upon the bed.

"Mario…" Andrea began to protest, but his ensign, in this matter, was incontrovertible.

"Shh, m'lord," He rumbled, "And let me do my work."

Piece, hose, and trousers opened with relative ease before the uncanny skill of Mario's beautiful hands, the gestures of which, ever oddly captivating, were now impossibly so as they dipped and stroked, deftly caressing the instrument of Andrea's body. Where the Captain might have had a mind to object, now he moaned and arched a bit in response to Mario's touch, closing his eyes and allowing himself to be led by sensation. Andrea was, after all, an artist in his soul, and that there was art at work here of the purest kind, he could in no wise deny.

And Mario was so wonderfully gentle, for all the brute that he looked, as he guided Andrea slowly into his mouth and let his tongue supplement the cause of his hands.

"…Mario _… Per Dio,_ Mario... " Andrea's moans gained depth and ardency, and his hips spasmed in time with his ensign's masterful ministrations. He could feel Belli grin, evilly, around his cock, his tongue absorbing all of the wickedness and impure thoughts which he thought he had successfully suppressed for the past several days, faced with church after orphanage, after holy shrine, and the pure example of the smiling Varani. Ideas and images that Andrea would not have admitted he had ever entertained, even in his most debauched moment in the service of the Borgia played out now in the theatre of his minds eye, as if conjured by magic and the touch of Mario, warm and firm and moist on his taut and swollen cock, squeezed by his fingers from the plump sacks beneath, sucked to the surface and making him cry out, in sheer desperation, "You're a devil, a devil, the lord of the fiends!"

"So I've heard it said before, though never have I been more honored by the title than the now," Mario rumbled in response, though the brief interruption in the work of Mario's tongue caused him to cry out again; this time in protest. Ever the faithful servant, Mario re-engaged his mouth in its previous office, mollifying his decidedly demanding master, as he clutched involuntarily at Mario's hair, his shoulders, anything that might help to anchor him as his pressure built and built into intolerability. He bit his tongue as it did, knowing, in spite of the relative privacy of their room, that the walls were not the thickest indeed, and the expression of his passion was not such that he wished to draw to it attention. That said, that great demon Mario was doing his damndest to force Andrea to break his resolve on that point, teasing, tickling, and stroking Andrea to greater and greater extremes of hardness, admiring the excellence of Andrea's form still more in the embodiment of his cock, which filled Mario's mouth and throat and challenges his tongue to acrobatic feats that defied all human dexterity. But Mario had been accused of having a silver tongue before, though not, it occurred to him, as slick a one as Andrea's…

But those were not thoughts for the moment, at least, not for Belli, even if Andrea could envision such a scene clearly; helpless as he was before the things that Mario was doing to him; it was far easier to imagine a moment of Belli, sprawled and naked before him, And Andrea keeling in supplication with the Frenchman's delicate hand curled cruelly in his hair, much like another, older experience, early on in his Borgian service…

It was this scene that played to its climax at the moment that such climax rocked Andrea fully, and he bit the velvet sleeve of his doublet to suppress his roar as he filled Mario's throat with jet after jet of his seed, violent and thick. Mario, ever accustomed to violence, stroked him through to denouement, taking every drop of his master with loving care, petting his body and mewing to it gently as it tensed and relaxed, the man panting, slick with sweat and utterly spent, upon the coverlet. Grinning still, Mario withdrew his mouth from the satiated organ with a parting lick of the still-dripping tip of Andrea, and finished undressing his master, while that worthy lay, incapable of anything else. He wished to say something, a quip or a word of praise to let Mario know, to tell him… but it was not possible, and the last thing Andrea saw before sleep took him was that horrible, magnificent face beaming down upon him as he drew the covers gently over his master, and the last thing he felt were Mario's lips, ever so lightly and scented of sex, pressing reverently upon his forehead.

"Sweet dreams, my Lord."

And what with the wickedness purged so completely from him, through its indulgence, Andrea rather believed that they would be.


End file.
